


That Time of Moon

by Dedicate Kiwicrocus (cranky__crocus)



Series: SMACKDOWN '11 R2, R3, Final - CIRCLECEST [3]
Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/F, Gen, Goldenlake, smackdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-03
Updated: 2011-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 02:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/Dedicate%20Kiwicrocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Something’s wrong with Rosethorn. She was bleeding and groaning and grabbing her stum! Lark looked weird, too. ...Seems it happens a lot—she must be sick, a disease! Rosethorn’s gonna die and I ain’t learned to make a proper garden yet!'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SMACKDOWN at Goldenlake: fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com

Briar didn’t make a sound as he stepped around Discipline’s kitchen and out the back door. Normally he’d whistle, but it was early in the morning and his body was done sleeping—it still wasn’t used to sleeping at the same time every night. Nor was he, for that matter.

            He stopped and hid behind the doorframe when he saw Rosethorn out back with a wooden bucket of water. She was twisting cloth over it and red water was pouring out—red the shade of _blood_. She scrubbed at it.

            Lark emerged from the privy. She held up the habit spread over the bench next to Rosethorn.

            “Oh _honestly_ , Rosie! If you would just track your cycle—”

            “I have more important matters on my mind than the moon and my womb,” Rosethorn retorted, twisting the cloth again. “It’s only counting its own years to barrenness.”

            Lark sighed. “If you don’t keep track, _I_ will. Magic or no, blood stains are difficult. I know you hate people interfering—”

            “Fine. Next moon, I’ll know.” Rosethorn gasped and grasped at her abdomen. She spoke through gritted teeth. “Mila strike me, but you may be right—preparation may—” Her words drifted off into a groan.

            “Come. I’ll set you up with a ginger cloth in your room and fix you some crampbark and chamomile tea. We’ll have you fixed up before the children can hassle you.” Lark took the cloth from Rosethorn’s hands and wrapped an arm under the woman’s shoulders. Rosethorn had no energy for a response, but the look of gratitude she gave put a strange feeling in Briar’s stomach. He scurried upstairs before the two could see them.

            _Tris?_ he called into his mind. _Are you awake?_

 _Well_ now _I am! Or did you forget I still have a mind when I’m asleep?_ He could tell she was huffing from the agitation in her mind-voice. But he also heard her thumping to the door; a second later it opened.

            “ _What_ , Briar? It’s only just gone dawn!” Her face was red and pillow-creased; he resisted the urge to laugh. It must have showed in his face, for she glared at him as she adjusted her spectacles. “I should slam the door in your face.”

            “You’d wake the other two.”

            “If we weren’t already awake,” Daja commented from her open door. Briar turned to see her leaning against her doorframe. Sandry hurried up the stairs in her nightgown.

            Briar was uncomfortable having an audience for this, but it appeared he had no choice. He also didn’t want Lark and Rosethorn to know they were awake just yet.

            _Something’s wrong with Rosethorn. She was_ bleeding _and_ groaning _and grabbing her stum! Lark looked weird, too._ He was rambling into his own mind and felt silly. But if there was something wrong with Rosethorn, something had to be done! _Seems it happens a lot—she must be sick, a disease! Rosethorn’s gonna_ die _and I ain’t learned to make a proper garden yet!_

            The three girls exchanged looks. It was quiet for one, two, three tense seconds for Briar as his heart beat nearly out of his chest…

            Sandry almost fell down the stairs laughing; Daja held onto the doorframe as she sagged against; Tris snorted, but lost herself soon after and pushed Briar’s shoulder.

            Briar’s face went every colour red under the sky, a mixture of embarrassment enough to hide in bed and anger enough to throttle the three of them at once.

            “ _What?!_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have you never heard of moonlies?” Tris asked, still laughing.

“Have you never heard of _moonlies?_ ” Tris asked, still laughing.

            “A woman being _on her moon_ _?_ ” Sandry furthered.

            “The red tide?” Daja added.

            Briar glared them all down to the floor—or he tried to, anyway. They were all still laughing inside, he could tell.

            “No. Ain’t had many women to tell me what’s what—not that I’d care! You girls are _boring!_ ” Briar’s voice rose, but he lowered it when he remembered that the plan was not to let the dedicates know they were awake. “If she ain’t dyin’, then I ain’t got no use for any of you all no more. Sod off and leave me alone!”

            He barrelled into Tris’ room—she was giggling too hard to stop him—and shimmied out her window.

            _Do we go explain it to him?_ Sandry questioned the two remaining girls. _He should probably know soon, living with two women…_

            Daja grinned. _If Rosethorn didn’t strangle him a few days ago, she won’t be killing_ any _of us._

            _He needs to know_ , Tris decided. _Even if he swears off women forever after._

            _Wouldn’t_ that _be nice?_ Sandry gave a dainty little grin and set off back down the stairs.

            “She’s got some wickedness to her, that one,” Daja whispered to Tris; there was admiration in her voice.

            “More sense than most nobles I’ve known.” Tris grinned back. Then she remembered this was a Trader, and they were only teaming up to train an ignorant street-thief of a boy—so he’d be out of _her_ hair. Daja seemed to come to the same conclusion and quieted as she followed the other two down the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Will you all bleed, random and pained like that? Helpless?”

Briar was sulking in his room—what a strange arrangement, just a mattress on the floor, Tris thought. He _had_ to be a street boy; civilised people preferred _beds_.

            “I told you all to let me be,” he growled up from his nest. “Prefer not to be humiliated before midday meal.”

            “Then life with us and Rosethorn will be hard,” Tris drawled. She crossed her arms. “And we’re here for you, not for us.”

            “Sure doesn’t seem it.” He glared at the three.

            “Briar, it’s something you need to know,” Sandry said, earnest and urging. “Because every woman bleeds that way and you live with two women.”

            Briar looked horror-struck. “Will _you_ all bleed, random and pained like that? Helpless?”

            Tris was a little— _little_ —touched at his concern. “No. Mostly it’s not supposed to hurt too much, or so most women say.”

            “I’ve heard it can,” Daja said. She shrugged one shoulder. “But we have herbs and teas to ease the pain.”

            “Rosethorn should have those,” Briar thought, looking thoroughly confused. “If she’s got herbs to poison a man, surely she’s got some to ditch her ouches. What’s the blood from, anyway? What kinda wound shows up that often?”

            The room was quiet for a moment. Daja looked away, inspecting the metal of her staff; Sandry shifted uncomfortably; Tris flushed from forehead to neck and re-crossed her arms.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You all are no help,” Briar announced. “I should just ask Rosethorn myself.”

“You all are no help,” Briar announced. “I should just ask Rosethorn myself.”

            “No!” Tris exclaimed, stepping forward. When she saw what a sight she had made of herself, she stepped back again. Sandry stepped forward instead.

            “No, you shouldn’t ask Rosethorn where her monthly blood comes from—she’d box your ears.” Sandry sighed and shook her head. “I’m sure you know men and women are different in…in that area between the legs.”

            Briar scoffed. “Sure I know that, every dafty knows _that_. Ain’t gone my whole life without bathin’, ya know!”

            “It comes from there.” Daja leaned against the wall and tapped her staff from foot to foot. “It means a woman isn’t carrying a child. She…regenerates, almost, gets prepared so she could carry a child before the next moon days.”

            “So Rosethorn’s not dyin’, she just ain’t leeched?”

            “If ‘leeched’ is your primeval term for pregnant, then yes,” Tris countered, clearly more comfortable to be back in the realm of insults. “She’s fine. She must have forgotten to take her herbs in advance.”

            Briar looked relieved, at least. Or he did, until the girls looked ready to grin and smile and laugh again. “You! All of you! Out! I’m not a numbskull to be laughed at, not in my own nook! _Out!_ ”

            Laughing, Sandry led the way out and up the stairs, intending to flop on Daja’s bed. Even Tris followed them in, interested in furthering their conversation without a _boy_ around. They’d hardly spoken with girls their age before—what if one of them knew something important?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why do women bleed? You know, once a moon. The girls told me some but they’re useless—all hearsay and made up for all I know. But you must know!”

The girls were cleaning their rooms. Briar had already done that, so he was getting a head start on his chores by sweeping the floor. Lark was preparing breakfast; Rosethorn was nowhere to be found and her door was closed. The coast was clear.

            “Lark?”

            “Yes Briar?” Lark glanced up from the bowl of porridge she was mixing.

            “Why do women bleed? You know, once a moon. The girls told me some but they’re _useless_ —all hearsay and made up for all I know. But you must know!”

            He heard the sound of movement from the back door. Briar looked up to find Rosethorn had just stepped in from outside—she must have been out to the privy. She tried to step back out again, but it was too late; he had caught her eye.

            Rosethorn turned redder than usual and stopped in her tracks. She just stood there. Briar wasn’t sure if she’d box him at the ears like Sandry said, or if she was embarrassed, or if she was gonna crack up like the rest of the women. Her mouth opened but no sound left and it closed back up again.

            Briar felt a hand on his shoulder: Lark was pulling him away. She pulled him into her bedroom and closed the door.

            “I’m sorry!” he stuttered out, hands over his eyes. “I didn’t mean—I weren’t—I thought she was somewhere else!” He refused to peek through his fingers.

            That was, until he heard Lark’s laughter. He peeked one eye through to take a look—maybe it was a trick. But no, she was laughing, her eyes closed and neck bent and her fingers before her lips.

            “Briar—” she gasped when she had controlled herself some. “I’m sorry for laughing; that was uncalled for. The look on Rosie’s face… well, she won’t forget _that_ for a while, but she won’t blame you; she’ll blame herself or me, and we can both take it. It’s best for you to know the truth now.”

            “So you’re gonna tell me?”

            “Not yet.” Lark held up her hand before Briar could express his disappointment and annoyance. “I’m going to speak with all of you. Sandry, Daja and Tris may not have had women to speak with about this, either. And right now Rosethorn needs calming. We’ll meet after dinner to discuss it.”

            “I have to learn about it with _them?_ They just sit there and laugh!”

            “They won’t.” Lark looked serious. “They’ll need to hear this as much as you.”

            “I _have_ to?”

            “Didn’t you want to?”

            “Not if I _have_ to…”

            “Don’t be difficult, Briar. It’s better to know. You’ll thank me when you’re older.”

            Briar looked unsure. Lark laughed again, but let him out of her room.

            He ran up to Tris’ room again, calling out to all three _, Rosethorn’s going to hit my head to Hajra!_ He could feel their laughter through their connection. _It’s not funny, rats!_

            _I’m pretty sure it is_ , Tris rebuked.

            _It’s funny,_ Daja confirmed.

            _It’s_ hilarious _!_ Sandry corrected.

            Briar grumbled to himself. _Well it won’t be, not tonight, when you_ all _have to hear about it!_

He was disappointed that the feelings he got back didn’t include disgust. In fact…they were excited. Traitors. No, worse: _girls._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How did he know?” was all she could summon up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't its own series story during SMACKDOWN, but since this is AO3 and not SMACKDOWN it'll get its own chapter. (:

Rosethorn smacked her palm against her forehead three times before Lark caught the hand and held it, all within the safety of Rosethorn’s closed bedroom.

            “How did he know?” was all she could summon up.

            “He must have seen you in the garden—and your condition must have kept you from noticing.” Lark kissed Rosethorn at the hairline. “It’s not the end of the world.”

            “So you say! The boy never heard of moondays and now he knows _I_ —” Lark caught the other hand before it finished the journey up to Rosethorn’s forehead. “I can never face him again.”

            “Wouldn’t make you much of a woman, would it?” Lark’s eyebrow was raised high when Rosethorn took a sidelong look. She coloured immediately; Lark seldom used guilt as an incentive.

            “What are you going to do about it?”

            Lark sighed. “ _We’re_ going to have a household meeting on it. The girls need us Rosethorn—they lost their families before they could learn much about it. I know Traders, too; they tend to gain their moon faster than the rest of us. It’s no good to keep them going on myths and misbeliefs. The sooner they know the truth of it all, the better.”

            Rosethorn had clearly focused on the first statement. “ _We?_ ”

            “Yes: _we_. You will join us.”

            “How can I face them?”

            “By knowing someday they will be you, and the way you deal with this impacts the way they will see and deal with it. And how Briar will treat it in the future. You know as well as I that it’s a natural thing with no shame, Rosie; it’s just that it was Briar that is throwing you off.” Lark leaned her forehead against Rosethorn’s, catching her eyes and admiring the brown irises, so lovely even when filled with such dread. “And I will make it worth your while. I’ll answer the questions, too.”

            Rosethorn grunted. It was as close to a ‘yes’ as Lark was ever likely to score. She kissed her partner, tracing a tongue between their lips as a hint of what might be to come if this met with success.

            “Thank you, Rosie.”

            Rosethorn sighed. “Thank you brewing my tea. And the ginger wrap. And for…everything. I won’t let it happen again.”

            Lark laughed to hear that; she smiled. Rosethorn blushed and hid her face in her hands, still clearly feeling embarrassed. Lark rested an arm over Rosethorn’s shoulder, rubbing a hand up and down the woman’s arms.

            “Four brothers, and never anything like this,” Rosethorn grumbled into her hands. “That boy is a menace.”

            “At least I got to see your beautiful blush today.”

            Lark received a quick pinch and laughed harder; and finally, she got Rosethorn to laugh too.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s fine. Don’t dwell on it or I’ll nail you to the roof like the thatch you’re so fond of.”

In the evening, the girls finished their portion of the washing up at record speed; Briar lagged behind until Lark caught his eye. Rosethorn had scarcely spoken during the meal, not even to correct Briar’s grammar.

            At last Lark summoned them all around the table. Instead of sitting where she normally did at the table head, she sat on a bench near Rosethorn. Briar nicked the seat before one of the girls could. He looked up, saw Rosethorn and looked away.

            “Briar,” she called to him over the table. There was the merest dusting of colour to her cheeks; her eyes were narrowed some. She looked closer to herself, at least. “It’s fine. Don’t dwell on it or I’ll nail you to the roof like the thatch you’re so fond of ruining.”

            Briar grinned. Rosethorn forgave him for finding out about her moondays, then. He corrected his expression to one of proper fear and nearly lost it again when Rosethorn snorted.

            Lark caught all their eyes, ending with Rosethorn, and then smiled. “Moon times, then,” she introduced, the smile still faintly present. “Filled with myth and mystic power…”

            She explained that it was nothing to be frightened or ashamed of, that even if it hurt there were remedies: she had them all try some of Rosethorn’s crampbark and chamomile tea; they found it to be palatable, even Briar. She showed them the ingredients and a cloth like the one Briar had seen Rosethorn with, all white and shaped like the number Tris had taught him was an 8; it went into the loincloth.

            Lark told them it meant a woman was physically able to bear children—but that it didn’t mean she _should_ , for that was a big decision that could easily wait a number of years. They all agreed that they knew adults didn’t just _sleep_ in beds. Lark took a brewing jar from Rosethorn’s workroom and explained it was something women could take if they wanted to ‘not sleep’ in a bed with a man without having a child—but that not all women spent time in bed with men, nor all men with women. She explained that all that was material for another year, but if anyone had any question, ask her.

            Lark finished her lesson by turning to Rosethorn and then back to the children. “But preferably not when Rosethorn is around.” She gasped and turned once more. “Rosie, did you just _kick_ me?”

            “What? Oh, leg must have slipped…”

            But Briar knew that look: it meant the person was up to no good. It made him smile to see it on Rosethorn’s face.

            He found he didn’t mind the talk, after all. But girls sure were a different sort of creature. They wouldn’t have any excuse to laugh at him for not knowing any more, at least. There was that.

            “Briar?”

            He looked up at Lark.

            “Niko should be around again soon. He’ll speak with you—with the girls around or not, depending on what you want.”

            Briar considered it for a moment. Then he grinned. “They can stick around.”

            He smiled at the sounds of three synchronised groans across the table. Payback was fun.

            _You’re terrible_ , Tris told him.

            _Takes one to know one_ , he responded as Lark turned to Rosethorn and said, “Maybe I’ll just invite _Crane_ ,” all smiling and light-hearted.

            _I knew Pirisi was right when she told me never to like boys._

            (“Rosie, kick me one more time and I’ll never brew you another cup of tea!”)

            _If I can’t trust boys and I can’t trust_ kaqs _, why did I trust a boy-_ kaq _?_

            (“My foot slips when it slips. It’s these _cramps_ , Lark.”)

            Briar just sat there grinning at the head of the table, reigning over his domain. He’d be the man of the house yet, he decided. Living with girls—grown or not—was at least _entertaining_. Or it was, until five sets of female eyes turned toward him…but in an instant he was gone again, safe in his nest, while the young and older woman chuckled, laughed or straight-out cackled.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “For all he walks with many, he cares, doesn’t he?” Sandry asked, smiling faintly. “He must have paid more attention than we thought when Lark taught us all about women, back in Discipline.”

In Namorn, Briar growled at the tent in his blanket. He breathed deeply and opened his eyes again to find one of the ladies of the court smiling at him, dark eyes meant only for the bedroom. The meditation went straight out the window.

            The girls closed their connection, half a palace away.

            “For all he walks with many, he cares, doesn’t he?” Sandry asked, smiling faintly. “He must have paid more attention than we thought when Lark taught us all about women, back in Discipline.”

            “And when Niko talked about men—” Tris began.

            “And Briar forced us to stay,” Daja finished for Tris, grinning. “Rat-child.”

            Sandry’s eyebrows rose. “You can’t say it wasn’t _interesting_. Niko felt more on-the-spot than Rosethorn must have felt, when Briar caught her red-handed.”

            Tris laughed at the terminology; it grew louder when she recalled the memory of Niko. “But when we were fourteen…do you remember how red he turned when Rosethorn said ‘morning wood’?”

            “I thought he’d combust on the spot,” Daja remarked. “Trust Rosethorn to do that to the man.”

            Sandry leaned forward and sipped her tea—this one transported from Yanjing, she thought; Briar would know. “I’ve never met a man so in tune with women.” They would know the topic of her conversation had reverted back.

            Daja waggled her eyebrows. “Is _that_ what they call it these days?” She laughed when Sandry swiped at her arm.

            “He is! He’s clear about his intentions, he takes the potion each night with the women, he listens, he _understands_.”

            Tris raised an eyebrow. “You sound as though you speak from experience.”

            Sandry gave her a stern look. “You _all_ know it’s true.”

            “We do.” Daja dipped her head; when it lifted again, it held a grin. “How else is he supposed to be after living with _three sisters_ and _two mothers?_ ”

            “He had Niko—” Tris began.

            “And Niko was fussier about his clothing than Rosethorn and Lark together—and Lark’s a weaver!” Sandry giggled. “They did raise us right, though, didn’t they?”

            Daja and Tris nodded. The former added, “But I don’t see why they didn’t tell us sooner—about them, I mean. We were, what, ten when Lark gave us the talk about moondays and mentioned that some women don’t sleep with men? Even if not then, surely it could have been before we left…”

            “It was there to see,” Sandry replied.

            “You think _Rosethorn_ would have admitted that to all of us, in words?” Tris posed. “Growing dim with age, you are.”

            “I am not, merchant _kaq!_ ” Daja answered, laughing through her grin and fondly remembering their first days at Discipline. “I just mean we could have handled it sooner.”

            Sandry leaned forward and caught the black girl’s eyes; cornflower blues were dancing with mirth and curiosity, lips perched in a lop-sided smile. “Is this about _Rizu_ , perhaps?”

            Daja cursed her _saati_ as her cheeks grew red. “As likely as me and Briar, that!”

            Tris wrinkled her nose. “I’d pick Rizu.”

            Sandry and Daja laughed.

            “Because she’s not my brother!” Tris choked, but it was too late: the damage was done. Sandry was nearly in tears and Daja was laughing into her staff. The weather witch just sighed and went on with sipping her tea. Honestly, Briar had the right of it sometimes: girls—and women—could be so _silly_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! C: Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
